Down upon the bloody battlefield he observed
the slaughter of his army!
Their sworn enemy retreating in their victory
the adrenaline still pumping.
His warriors always defiant their roar so loud
of them he was truly proud!
His muscular body glistening in the early dawn
old scars and new wounds
Cris crossed his flesh a bloody sword held high
shouting a defying war cry
Echoing shrilly over the mist filled valley below
praying to god their way to show!
One lost battle he knew did not lose this war
but the warriors were weary.
Without families near to mourn their passing
being their leader had to be strong.
No Time for remorse or for him to be meek
nor allow himself to become weak!
Moving amongst his loyal men to bury the dead
and prepare for the next battle!
Later back at their camp site his officers gathered
to count the cost and plan.
Giving his pledge there would be no more defeat
feeling the surge in his heart beat!
At dawn the loyal warriors marched ready to fight
tough and fearless their formation tight!
Onward to meet their destiny!
The Foureyed Poet.